


Sweet Potatoes & Stitches

by whumphoarder



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt Peter Parker, Stitches, Team as Family, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 00:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16712710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: Peter tries to assist Tony in cooking Thanksgiving dinner for the Avengers, but his culinary skills are a little lacking, and his knife skills even more so. Thankfully, the team is there to help.





	Sweet Potatoes & Stitches

If there was one thing Peter had figured his mentor wasn’t good at, that thing was cooking.

That’s mostly because food has never seemed like much of a priority to Tony. Peter has rarely seen the man eat anything that didn’t come from either a fancy restaurant, a pizza box, or a blender. Often times when they’re working in the lab, he has to remind Tony to stop for lunch or dinner, lest Peter should go too long without food and his enhanced metabolism cause him to faint.

(That had only happened once, but he still hadn’t lived down the embarrassment.)

So that’s why it comes as a surprise when, one weekend in early November, Tony asks him, “Got any plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing really,” Peter says with a shrug, eyes still focused on the project in front of him. “May has to cover a shift at the hospital and Ned’s going to Florida to visit his grandparents, so I was just planning on watching the Macy’s parade and maybe doing some patrolling.”

He doesn’t really mind the lack of festivities; holidays haven’t been the same lately with Ben gone.

“Would you want to come over to the compound?” Tony offers.

Peter glances up from the circuits he’s been wiring. “Seriously?”

Tony shrugs. “Pepper will be in Japan still—the new Stark Industries merger is zapping all her free time. I’ve been thinking about hosting a little team dinner for some of the stragglers. You could give me a hand in the kitchen.”

“You’re _cooking_?” Peter asks incredulously.

Tony blinks at him. “Of course I’m cooking. You don’t cater Thanksgiving, Pete.”

“Oh,” Peter backtracks. “I just… I didn’t know you could cook.”

Tony scoffs. “The ability to cook and the desire to cook are two separate things. Jarvis taught me.”

Peter frowns at him. “Your old AI?”

“Our old butler,” Tony corrects. “He pretty much raised me. There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, kid,” he says with a laugh. “Most of them will be staying that way.”

**X**

When November 22nd rolls around, Peter is dropped off at the compound at noon to find Mr. Stark already hard at work in the facility’s industrial-sized kitchens. Black Sabbath blasts over the room’s speakers, there are eight pies cooling on the table, a small bog worth of cranberries floating in the sink, and two whole sacks of potatoes on the floor leaning against the dishwasher.

Tony, dusted in flour and wearing an actual ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, is enthusiastically slapping butter onto the skin of the largest turkey Peter has ever seen.

“Wow,” is all Peter can say.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Tony greets. “FRI, be a dear and give him a run-down of the menu while I pop this baby in the oven, will you?”

“Of course, boss,” FRIDAY replies. “The current menu consists of pear blossom and thyme brined roast turkey with a classic herb and fennel stuffing, leek and potato gratin, porcini mushroom risotto, cranberry orange relish, and a shaved brussel sprout and chestnut salad.”

Considering Peter had ruined his Kraft mac n’ cheese last week by forgetting to remove the sauce packet before dumping the noodles into the boiling water, he’s feeling a little out of his element. But he’s eaten enough Thanksgiving dinners to know that something is missing.

“What about the sweet potato casserole?” Peter asks.

Tony wrinkles up his nose. “Does anyone actually like that crap?”

“Um, _yes_? With the little marshmallows on top?” Peter balks at him. “That stuff is the _bomb_ , Mr. Stark.”

Tony gags dramatically. “What are you—eighty? Marshmallows and root vegetables do not mix. Not in my house.”

“But it’s _so good_ ,” Peter whines. “It’s warm and gooey and when the marshmallows get that little crust on them?”—he moans a bit—“God. That’s the best part of thanksgiving right there.”

“I can’t listen to this blasphemy,” Tony declares. “I am not serving fucking sweet potato casserole on my table and that’s final.”

It’s a low blow, but Peter knows there’s still one card he can play to make his mentor change his mind. He sticks his lip out in a slight pout and makes his eyes as wide as possible before saying in a melancholy tone:

“It was my Uncle Ben’s favorite.”

**X**

Forty-five minutes later, after a rush-ordered Peapod grocery delivery, Peter is grinning as he stands at the kitchen sink, scrubbing his way through a moderately sized hill of sweet potatoes.

Tony scrolls down the Starkpad in front of them, a look of utter disgust on his face. “This recipe calls for two cups of butter,” he complains. “That’s _four sticks_. I already have a heart condition, kid.”

“Trust me, Mr. Stark,” Peter says sagely, “it’s worth it.”

“I cannot be a part of this.” Tony shakes his head slowly. “You’re on your own. I’m gonna go start the cranberries.”

Peter shrugs his shoulders. “That’s fine—I can do it myself.”

Sure, Peter’s never really made anything more labor intensive than a frozen pizza, but he’s heard that cooking is basically like chemistry and he’s awesome at chemistry.

How hard can it be?

**X**

The recipe is simple enough. While Tony hops around the kitchen, juggling various dishes, Peter melts together the butter, brown sugar, spices, and half of the marshmallows in a saucepan. The rest he saves for the topping.

“It kinda looks like my web fluid,” he remarks. He raises the silicon spatula he’s been using to stir the concoction and lets the sticky mixture string down back into the bowl. “Well, when I mess up the proportions anyway,” he amends.

Tony rolls his eyes. “That’s not the most promising culinary endorsement.”

Peter reads the next step off the tablet. “Now it says I have to peel the sweet potatoes.” He pulls a long knife out of the knife block. “Do I use this?”

Tony glances up from the oranges he’s slicing. “Only if you want to lose a hand,” he says with a snort. He pulls open a drawer and fishes out a vegetable peeler before tossing it over.

Peter catches it easily by the handle and picks up one of the potatoes. “So I just like”—he makes a circular gesture in the air with the peeler—”go around in a spiral?”

“No, you don’t have to get fancy with it. Just hold one end and go straight down,” Tony instructs. “Like you’re shaving.”

“Oh yeah, that helps,” Peter mutters sarcastically.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at him. “You still don’t shave yet?”

Peter suddenly feels very young. “I mean, Ned doesn’t either...” he mumbles, regretting his comment.

Tony leans over a little to peer at his face. “I see that peach fuzz you’ve got going,” he teases. “Maybe after you get this sickeningly sweet crap in the oven, I’ll give you a lesson.”

Peter’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. He steps backward away from his mentor. “Oh no, you don’t have to,” he says quickly. “I’m sure I can figure it out myself sometime. And if not, there’s always YouTube.”

Tony balks at him. “You’d rather learn to shave from _YouTube_ than me?” He points at his goatee. “Look at these clean lines—I am the god of shaving, Pete.”

Peter holds out the peeler with a smirk. “Maybe you can teach me on all these sweet potatoes?” he suggests.

“Nice try,” Tony says with a scoff as he moves back to his work station. “You want them, you cook them.”

**X**

Once he gets the potatoes peeled, Peter starts cutting them into cubes. Tony has to show him how to hold the knife—”You pinch it, Pete, you don’t grip it like the world is ending, and Jesus Christ, watch your fingers”—but eventually Peter falls into the groove of things.

“So who actually is going to be here for dinner?” Peter asks as he chops away.

Tony carefully pours the risotto rice into a bubbling pot of stock. “Most of the team, except for Clint and Scott.”

“Really?” Peter asks. When Tony had said ‘the stragglers’, he’d been expecting maybe three or four people—not the whole team. “Don’t they have family to be with?”

Tony shrugs. “This isn’t exactly the most family-friendly career path.”

Peter picks another potato off the pile. “I know, I just…” he trails off. “Doesn’t it ever get lonely?”

“What? Being an Avenger? Tony asks. He pauses just a second too long. “Nah, that’s why we keep you around, kid.”

Before Peter has a chance to dwell on that response, Tony adds, “I think Thor might even stop by.”

“Whoa, really?” Peter gapes, all awkwardness forgotten. “But there can’t be Thanksgiving on Asgard, right?”

“Doesn’t matter—Thor’s always down for a feast.” Tony scoffs, “There’s no Easter either, but that didn’t stop him from polishing off an entire ham last April.”

Peter’s chopping speeds up as excitement comes over him. “ _God_ , he’s so cool! Is he going to bring the hammer? On the last mission he told me a really funny story about this one party you threw where you guys all tried to lift the hammer.”

“What exactly did he tell you about that night?” Tony asks cautiously.

“Just that everybody got drunk and nobody could lift it,” Peter rambles, “Not even Steve or you with your gauntlet, or…”

The moment the knife comes down, Peter knows he’s fucked up. The resistance was all wrong—that was not a sweet potato.

“... or anybody,” he finishes.

The pain follows a second later. Peter inhales sharply and drops the knife on the cutting board as he pulls his hand away from the counter and up against his chest. Blood is streaming from the deep slice he’s just made in his thumb.

Tony is standing facing the stove with his back to Peter and is therefore oblivious to what’s just occurred. Peter glances down at his t-shirt, which is rapidly staining with blood, and gulps. He knows he needs help, but he also doesn’t want to freak his mentor out.

(Tony does have that heart condition after all.)

“Uh… Mr. Stark?” Peter stammers. He grabs the dishtowel from the counter and quickly presses it to his throbbing thumb. “I um… Can you help with something?”

“Yeah, give me a minute,” Tony replies without looking back. He adjusts the temperature on the burner while stirring with the other hand.

“Okay…” The towel is already soaking through with blood. “It’s just that this is a little time sensitive…”

Tony carefully ladles more stock into the pot with one hand, stirring with the other. “So is risotto, kid,” he shoots back. “The whole trick is that after you add the rice, you have to stir constantly until the liquid is absorbed. Your orange goop can wait.”

“Sure, yeah, okay…” Peter pulls back the towel a bit to look at the cut and nearly gags when he realizes he can see the bone. “Yeah, I’m good, I just, uh…”

“What step are you stuck on?” Tony interrupts. He adds a splash of wine to the pot. “I can talk you through it.”

Peter's ears are ringing now and his heart is fluttering with adrenaline. He leans heavily on the counter for support. “Don’t be mad.”

Tony laughs. “What, did you ruin the casserole? I think you’re the only one who’d be upset about that.”

Black spots cloud Peter’s vision. “I need to sit...” he mumbles.

“Huh?” Tony finally glances back over his shoulder to see Peter lowering himself down to the floor, ending in an ungraceful thump.

Tony stops stirring and stares at the blood dripping down the arm of his young charge. He blinks. “ _Really_ , Peter?”

Peter gives him a pained look. “Sorry?”

Cursing under his breath, Tony turns off the burner and abandons the risotto on the stove. He crosses the kitchen in three quick strides. “What happened?” he demands as he kneels down next to the kid.

“Knife slipped. Cut myself,” Peter says through gritted teeth. Now that he’s not so distracted by trying to get Tony’s attention, it really is starting to hurt now. “It’s uh, it’s kinda deep.”

Tony carefully takes Peter’s hand and peels back the dish towel to get a better look. Peter lets out a hiss of pain as fresh blood flows steadily from the wound.

“Shit. This definitely needs stitches,” Tony mutters, reapplying pressure.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter says with a moan. “I know you have a lot to get done—I should have been paying more attention.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t sweat it,” Tony brushes him off with a hand wave. “FRIDAY, page Helen to meet us in Medbay.”

“Doctor Cho is currently in Minnesota visiting relatives,” FRIDAY reports. “Would you like me to contact one of the on-call SHIELD doctors?”

Panic rushes over Peter and he shakes his head frantically. “No, no please don’t!” he begs. He’s only been to SHIELD Medical twice—both times following missions with the Avengers. The doctors there have this cold, clinical vibe to them that sets Peter’s senses on edge. “Can’t we just fix it here?”

Tony hesitates for a moment, but eventually gives in to Peter’s pleading look. “Alright,” he relents. To FRIDAY, he orders, “Assess the team’s medical training and send up whoever can deal with this.”

“Right away, boss,” she agrees.

Tony shifts to a seated position on the floor next to Peter. “Also postpone dinner an hour,” he adds. “Maybe take the casserole off the menu.”

Peter’s cheeks flush. “Really, really sorry, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles.

**X**

About two minutes later, the kitchen doors swing open. Peter looks up to see Bruce enter, carrying a rather hefty SHIELD regulation first aid kit.

“Hi, Peter,” he greets.

Peter smiles a bit, relieved to see the familiar face. But the smile disappears as the doctor is immediately followed through the doorway by Steve. And then Sam. And Natasha. Wanda appears a second later, and then Colonel Rhodes strides in, his leg braces clicking on the floor. Thor brings up the rear.

Peter suddenly feels very overwhelmed.

“Whoa, whoa what is all this?” Tony demands, getting to his feet. “I asked for one person, FRI—not a call to assemble!”

Steve is already squatting down at Peter’s side. “Hey champ,” he says, giving Peter’s hair a ruffle.

Peter stares up at him, eyes wide. "Hi," he squeaks.

“You requested that I send up whoever in the building is equipped to deal with a substantial laceration requiring sutures,” the AI’s voice replies. “After reviewing the files, I have determined that they are _all_ equally equipped to handle such an injury.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “How is that even possible?”

“While none of them are actually licensed physicians, Rhodes, Wilson, and Rogers all received advanced military medical training,” FRIDAY explains. “Banner has several biomedical degrees as well as significant field experience from his time in India. Romanoff was extensively trained through SHIELD, and as for Thor and Maximoff—”

Wanda is currently lifting the lid from one of the simmering pots on the stove to peek in. “I’ve recently taken up quilting,” she offers.

“—they were simply in the room,” FRIDAY finishes.

“Great,” Tony deadpans. “Fantastic. Just what we need.”

While Steve and Bruce rifle through the first aid kit, the rest of the team seizes the opportunity to take a look around the kitchen.

“What a glorious bounty you have procured, Stark!” Thor booms, nodding in approval at the overflowing counters. “This will be a proper feast, indeed!”

“Yeah, smells good in here,” Sam remarks.

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “Except for that hint of iron.” She smirks at the crimson-stained kid on the floor. “Hi Peter.”

In a daze, Peter waves his bloody hand back. “Uh, hi Ms. Romanoff,” he stammers.

Rhodey pulls the oven door open to peer at the roasting bird. “I think you’re drying it out, Tones,” he announces.

“Hey close that!” Tony yelps. “And you are not allowed to determine the doneness of poultry—not since the salmonella incident of ‘97.”

Rhodey shuts the oven and flips his friend off with a scowl.

Wanda picks up a package of rolls from the counter and frowns at the label. “Are these gluten free?”

“Alright, we’re done here!” Tony calls over the ruckus. He hoists a very wobbly Peter to his feet, keeping a good grip on the kid’s elbow. “He’s going to Medbay.”

As Tony escorts Peter past the surprised faces of his teammates, he mutters, “FRIDAY, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but invite the wizard to dinner.”

**X**

Tony’s fancy menu is more or less abandoned as the team had taken over food preparation while Doctor Strange stitched Peter’s thumb back in place. It’s nearly nine o’clock that evening by the time they are finally gathered around the compound’s enormous dining room table.

Peter takes in the odd spread before him.

In true military fashion, Steve and Sam had peeled, cooked, and mashed the single largest pot of plain white potatoes Peter’s seen in his life. Bruce had prepared a back-of-the-soup-can label green bean casserole. Natasha and Wanda had whipped up some kind of traditional beet soup that, despite looking like shit, isn’t actually half bad. Rhodey had reheated a bag of frozen corn. Thor had roasted a deer.

(No one was entirely sure where it had come from and no one wanted to ask either).

Before they dig in, Steve suggests they all go around the table and say one thing they’re thankful for.

“I’ll start,” Peter announces with a grin. He waves his thoroughly bandaged hand in the air. “I’m thankful that I still have a thumb!”

Stephen smirks and nods his head in Peter’s direction. “Thankful I could be of assistance.”

Tony scoffs. “I’m just thankful at least one of you clowns have a medical license.”

**X**

The next morning, Tony sends Peter home with an entire sweet potato casserole that he's whipped up, marshmallow crust and all.

**Author's Note:**

> (So this was meant to be a short drabble and ended up over 3k. Whoops lol)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know your thoughts - it absolutely makes my day :D
> 
> And if you have any strong opinions about sweet potatoes (or other Thanksgiving side dishes), feel free to share them in the comments!


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